Against All Odds
by Das Lieblingsfach
Summary: A mistake leads Dave and Santana to the realization they have more in the common than they'd like to think. A reluctant friendship forms and strengthens as the two find themselves relying heavily on each other. Strong Language, future Kurtofsky Brittana
1. The Slushy Incident

**A/N- **I don't have much to say, other than this hasn't been Beta'd and so any and all accidents are my own. Also, keep in mind that I just started watching Glee this season and I haven't even gotten halfway through the first yet, so there may be slight discrepancies that could be noticeable to people who've been with the show since the beginning. Go easy on me, please? =)

**Disclaimer- **Glee would be quite different if I owned it, which I don't.

* * *

It all began -as most things at McKinley High do- with a slushy.

There had been the talk in the locker room with Azimio before that. He had been none-too-subtle about his want of seeing Jacob Ben Israel get a cup of ice-cold dye to the face. It _had _been a long time since they'd relieved the urge after all, and since it was an unspoken consensus that Glee club members were off limits since the Thriller performance, there had been no easy targets available. Jacob was, at least for the moment and at least for Azimio.

Dave, on the other hand, was skeptical. There was a whole hell of a lot Jacob could use against him on that damned blog, were he or anyone else to ever find out his secret. One slushy to the face could determine his fate at McKinley High for the remainder of his time there, maybe even _after_.

But he didn't let Azimio or any of the other guys catch on to this. He pretended to be just as enthusiastic as the rest of them about the plan for slushy sabotage and it made him feel, as it usually did, a little sick.

He still filled cups and marched with the rest of the guys down the hallway to Jacob's locker with a swagger in his step and a gleam in his eye. There was no way anyone would be able to detect the apprehension or self-debate raging within him.

The whole of them agreed the attack would be sudden and unannounced aside from the 'Hey Jew-Fro' that would get the target's attention long enough for him to turn around. Dave was unfortunately a bit too keen to get the deed over with as soon as possible, so he called it out himself and chucked the slushy before even having seen Jacob turn around.

He should have known Jacob would duck before turning to see who had called. He should have known his voice would be recognizable and gotten one of the other guys to do it.

But he didn't have the presence of mind to do so and instead was left staring at Santana _fucking _Lopez dripping in ice and blue dye –the latter of which was currently staining the immaculately white fabric of her blouse-. The football team collectively gasped, all of whom still had full Big Gulp cups. There was no denying who was the culprit here.

There was only a brief, heart-stilling moment of silence where Santana began to recover from the sudden attack and turn around to see who was responsible. As to be expected, the so-called teammates that had accompanied Dave were making a slow retreat. If the empty cup weren't evidence enough the fact that he was standing apart from all of them and looking the most afraid would be.

"What the _fuck_…!" she eventually cried, making everyone in the nearby vicinity either jump or shut up completely.

Dave didn't have enough time to react before she was coming at him in a blur of hair, teeth, and nails, screaming Spanish obscenities at him like some kind of hellish banshee. He also wasn't prepared enough to brace himself for her push into the lockers. He yelped as his shoulders and spine slammed against the metal and his knees buckled beneath him. It was not unlike the time Sam had done it, just somehow more painful.

"Who the _fuck _do you think you are?"

In his peripheral, Dave could hear the sounds of his teammates now enjoying themselves with a few obligatory cat-calls and inciting hoots and hollers. They seemed to be encouraging him now to take control of the situation and 'show that bitch who's the man', but that was easier said than done.

And when he was finally able to look down and make something resembling eye contact with his assailant, he saw she was _crying_. These weren't tears brought on by the unsettling eye-irritating property of the slushy dye, these were genuine. She was angrier than he'd ever seen her –anyone, in fact- and yet she was clearly crying out of sadness. Had he really done enough to cause that?

At that point he had decided he'd make no real effort to stop her. The last time he could remember making someone cry was when he and Azimio had cornered Kurt in the hallway. While the adrenaline had kept him going in the heat of the moment, there was no doubt that seeing that kind of pain inflicted on the boy he secretly loved –at his hands, no less- made him sick to his stomach. The sight of that quivering, beautiful reddened face still haunted him and he could now see Kurt at that moment in the much shorter girl before him.

If he could imagine that it was Kurt throwing him against the locker, Kurt that was yelling at him, maybe he could purge himself of this guilt.

He doubted it, but he deserved it either way.

"You don't know me!" Santana yelled, before her balled up fist collided with Dave's face. "None of you know who the fuck I am!"

The punch was painful, but thankfully not worse than one he might have endured from a teammate. It simply made him recoil his head to the side and cradle his jaw.

Santana yelled some more, half in Spanish and half in unintelligible English, before the familiar taps of teacher shoes –pennyloafers, of course- came cascading down the hall, parting the crowds of students not quite as efficiently as Moses to the red sea, but with the same fervor.

She was soon being pried off of Dave by Mrs. Olson, the US History teacher, still kicking and screaming in her grasp. Mr. Pruitt, the chemistry teacher, had followed close behind and seemed to be preparing himself to hold Dave back if necessary. Of course, Dave did nothing but stay plastered against the lockers where he had been thrown, hopeful that it might aid him in the inevitable trial that would take place in Mr. Figgins' office. Any witness could attest that he had done nothing more than slushy Santana in the face –albeit accidentally, but he wasn't relying on anyone to believe him there- and hadn't so much as lay a finger on her.

He internally acknowledged the fact that he was a Grade A douchebag, but he _had_ a moral code even in that regard; no _hitting_ handicapped kids, girls, or Kurt, the last of which he had formerly hoped he could keep under wraps by compensating with locker shoves. Unlike that failed effort, he hoped the powers-that-were would believe his claim and not lay _all _of the blame on him.

And so the two of them were dragged to the Principal's office and threw themselves down in the two chairs in front of his desk. He wasn't present for whatever reason, and so the only teacher serving as their chaperone decided to skip off to find him. Dave couldn't help but question the wisdom in leaving two kids alone together who had just finished having a hallway brawl. He then wondered if Santana would try to have another go at him.

Instead she simply sat there, not a foot away, sniffing audibly and feverishly wiping her eyes. He felt like something should be said, given that he hated awkward silences and the fact that Santana was apparently _convinced _he had been out to get her.

"It was a mistake," he said with unintentional incredulity. "I was aiming for someone else, you just happened to be in the way-"

"Shut. the fuck. up."

She didn't even bother to look at him as she said this. He had to admit he was intimidated, but that had never stopped him before.

"What, you don't believe me? You think I'm a liar?"

She then rounded on him, her lower jaw clenched angrily and her fists quivering.

"You're an asshole, is what you are. You're a _fucking_ asshole."

"Are you not hearing what I'm telling you, Lopez? It was an _accident_. I swear to god I wasn't trying to hit you-"

"Why don't you just save it for Figgins?" she barked. "Not that I think he'll believe your little sob story, what with your track record of harassing people who are different than you."

_Different_? Dave was taken aback at her choice of words. What the hell made her so different from him?

"But I don't give a shit," she continued acidically, pointing one index finger at him much like Kurt did in the locker room. "You're not gonna turn _me_ into your fucking punching bag. I'm not going to run off to some over-priced sob school so you and those other douchebags can have your homophobia-safe environment. I will fight you tooth and nail, Karofsky, and if not for me, than for Kurt's sake and any other closeted kids here who are too fucking afraid to own who they are because of dickwads like you. You _don't_ scare me."

He simply stared at her a moment, too shocked to say much of anything. He was also sure that his slow retreat into the cushioning of his chair after having been owned like that was more than noticeable.

The only real, coherent thought running through his head was, _Did Santana just confess to being gay?_ He had to run through her words once more to figure out if that's what she had actually just told him.

If so, it certainly explained a lot about her reaction to his mistake and it made the situation at hand all the more ironic.

Figgins thankfully arrived at that moment, relieving some of the tension brought on by the ensuing silence. As to be expected, he asked for both sides of the story. Santana's rendition put aside any of Dave's confusion.

"He purposefully _slushied_ me," she growled, pointing at him all the while as though there might be some uncertainty as to who she was referring. "All because he and his little gang of jockstraps found out about me and Brittany. He's trying to get me to leave, _just _like he did to Kurt. As principal, it astounds me that you can let these blatant acts of homophobia go on, right under your nose."

Figgins reacted in the same way Dave did to Santana's tirade earlier, but before he could say anything, Dave was quick to add his own input.

"Seriously, what _the hell_ are you talking about? I didn't know anything about you and Brittany." Turning to the principal he added, "I've told her already, it was an accident."

It was eventually decided that despite Dave's former history there was no proof that what he had done to Kurt was driven by any kind of hatred or intolerance, thereby negating its relevance. Furthermore, pushing a student into a locker and decking them across the jaw was a much larger infraction than a slushy to the face, no matter what the motivation for doing so was. So Figgins decided to go easy on both of them and just assign them a Saturday detention before shooing them out of his office.

Santana rose and spun on her heel with an audible huff before marching out, apparently having taken a page from Rachel's book of theatrics. Dave, feeling no kind of victory or self-satisfaction for what had transpired, followed her out.

"Hey," he called after her down the empty hallway. "Why don't I get you a towel? You're still soaking."

She glared at him. Even from opposite sides of the hallway he could see the fire flickering in her eyes.

"How about you pay to replace my outfit, asshole?"

He shrugged, rolling his eyes a bit. "'Seems fair. Maybe when I have the money. Do you want a towel or not?"

Something about his agreement to replace her ruined clothes must have softened her a little, as she reluctantly followed him to the locker room, making sighs and groans of irritation the entire way.

When they finally arrived and he handed her one of the freshly washed red towels from laundry room, he reiterated his earlier point.

"Look, I _swear_ to you this whole thing was an accident. We had our sights sets on Jacob, not you. And I promise none of us knew anything about you and Brittany- whatever that means."

She eyed him for a moment, periodically disappearing beneath the fluffy red fabric as she attempted to extract the remaining ice particles from her hair. She seemed to eventually decide that he was telling the truth, either because they were no longer in the office, or because she had remembered Jacob was standing nearby at the time, or because he had just selflessly offered to her help her clean up. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

Having realized this, she sighed and shrank onto the bench directly behind her.

"Fuck. Well, _now _you know."

Dave shifted his feet, feeling even more like shit. "Not…really. You haven't really been specific about it."

She turned to look at him sharply.

"I won't tell anybody, okay?" he assured.

She scoffed and continued to half-heartedly dry her shoulders. "Yeah, like I'm going to believe that. Why would _you_ of all people protect me? Is this some segue into blackmail?"

He exhaled and chewed his bottom lip nervously, knowing in the back of his mind what he owed her now. His own secret had been itching and scratching to escape and he done everything in his power to try and contain it. But in the intimacy of this moment, as they sat in the same place Kurt had confronted him months before, the secret itself was about to spew out. Unless he were to sporadically stomp out of the locker room at this exact moment, he'd inevitably reveal it and he had no right to the former option.

Taking his fate into his hands, he sat down beside her on the bench, hoping direly that she would sympathize enough to keep it to herself.

"Alright…" he sighed, absently toying with a rip in his jeans and avoiding eye contact. "I'm telling you this because I unknowingly made you reveal your own secret. Also, I'm the biggest douche at this school and I don't deserve to keep it hidden anymore."

She remained silent, studying him with narrowed eyebrows.

"This place where we're sitting? Four months ago Kurt confronted me here. Do you know how it ended?"

She simply shook her head, clearly unaware of this past encounter. He found the will-power to look her in the eye, but only for the moment.

"I kissed him." And then he faltered, collapsing back in on himself and rubbing his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see Santana's reaction.

"You…what?"

"I _kissed _him. You wanna know why?"

They were silent again for a moment. Dave wasn't looking at Santana, but he could hear her let out a breath before saying in voice that sounded as though she might have been smiling,

"I think I know."


	2. Gay Guys Love Thai Food

**A/N- **I wanted to point out that any character bashing in this chapter is not me venting my own opinions, but rather those of the characters. Keep in mind that I'm writing from their POV, not my own, so know that I'm not trying to hate, just be genuine.

**Disclaimer- **Still not mine. Unfortunately. =(

* * *

It had been a few weeks since the slushy incident.

They had bared their souls to each other and Santana was well aware of the fact. It was probably due to this knowledge that, despite them both agreeing to go their separate ways and forget about the situation entirely, she couldn't get it out of her mind.

She would see him in all the same places she had before- at his lunch table with jocks, getting something from his locker in between 3rd and 4th period, heading off to some kind of sports practice after school. She hadn't really taken any conscious notice of him before, but how could she avoid doing so now? Worse still, their eyes would sometimes meet and it was in that brief moment that they'd relive the locker room. They knew something incriminating about each other. Each had the power to ruin the other one.

Santana liked to think of it as something of a stand-off, Ennio Morricone style. It was probably for this reason that she bided her time, simply waiting for him to let the truth about her slip. She treated it as inevitability and readied herself to do the same.

But time wore on and no such thing occurred. The longer he kept his promise the more impressed she became and the more she felt inclined to approach him again.

When she finally caught him more-or-less alone it was after his baseball practice on a balmy spring evening. She was on her way to the parking lot from Glee rehearsals and he was sitting sweaty and gross on a bench close to the field, watching as some of the guys ran through their own game. Not eager to get home and study history notes, she threw caution to the wind and meandered over.

"Hey there," she said, inviting herself to plop down next to him and cast her messenger bag to the side.

He looked over at her, both bewildered and a little startled. "Oh…'sup." He then returned his attention to the diamond.

"What are you doing here?" she felt compelled to ask. "Don't you want to go home? Take a shower at least?"

He laughed a little at that, albeit nervously. "Yeah…I'm not exactly in a big hurry."

"Dude, you should be. You smell like dirt and four month old gym socks."

He chuckled again, but she could tell it was doing seldom little to relieve the tension. He obviously thought she was harboring ulterior motives and given her dirt on him coupled with her history of being the worst confidant in the world, she couldn't exactly call this fear irrational.

She leaned a bit closer and lowered her voice, fighting to not breathe through her nose. "I'm not here to threaten you or something. I just want to talk."

He cocked an eyebrow. "'Bout what?"

"I don't know, anything. Your life, my life. My troubles, your troubles. Whatever."

He kicked absentmindedly at a patch of grass while a homerun was scored, missing it completely and seeming to not care.

"Yeah…I dunno."

She sighed and wet her lips, getting a bit frustrated with his reticence.

"Look, Karofsky, that was a big thing you did a few weeks ago. _I_ haven't even managed to find the balls to do what you did. I don't want fuck with you, I just want someone to talk to about our _shared situation_. Something tells me you do too."

He glanced at her briefly, then the field, and then back at the ground, seemingly mulling over the situation. Eventually, he placed hands on his knees and rose from the bench.

"You hungry?" he asked as he began to gather his things. "Give me a second to take a shower and I'll buy you dinner."

She smirked, a little disbelieving. "A guy buying me dinner? This'll be a first."

He smiled back, and this time she could tell it was genuine. "Cool it, Lopez. I figure it's the least I can do after the epic slushy incident of 2011."

"Just don't think this gets you out of buying me a new outfit."

"Nah, wouldn't dream of it."

He then shifted his sports bag onto his shoulder and headed off to the locker room. She waited patiently on the bench, deciding to use the opportunity to skim over her neglected history notes.

* * *

They chose to meet at the nearby Thai place down the street. It had been his suggestion, not hers, and probably needless to say she found herself a bit surprised. She would have expected him to pick something a bit more casual and far less ethnic.

Not that she was complaining, or even planned to call him out on this. Free Thai food was free Thai food, no matter who was buying it.

The conversation they shared was fairly light and relaxed and she wouldn't have had it any other way. It was because Dave _wasn't _a friend and in just the same royal mess that she was that she felt like her walls could come down. How long had it been since she just _talked _to someone? It seemed like every conversation she'd had in the past month -with those who were supposed to be her friends, no less- had been drenched with facetiousness or excessive drama. In fact, that was something of a regularity in her life.

Save for Brittany, who she hadn't been able to talk to the same way since the confession, there was no one she knew currently that she could talk to like she could talk to Dave. It was because everyone else, in one aspect or another, was just a pawn in her schemes.

But Dave was not and couldn't be any of those things. He simply held her deepest secret and she, his. The only thing they could do was bond with and find some kind of solace in the only other person at school who _got it_. But Santana was beginning to discover that it wasn't nearly as hard as she thought it would be.

As it turned out, Dave was a surprisingly cool guy.

"Why don't you just act like this all the time?" she found herself asking as she twisted rice noodles around her fork.

"What do you mean?"

"_Like this_. As in, not a douchebag. You try so hard to get people to like you by being this big jerk, but I bet you anything you could be as popular as Finn if you'd just -oh, fuck, excuse the sickening cliché- be _yourself_."

He sighed and laughed somewhat half-heartedly. "Yeah, well, maybe you should take your own advice, Lopez."

"For crying out loud, it's not that easy. You at least told someone your secret point-blank, unlike me who just blurted it out like an idiot. You're much closer to being legitimately awesome than I am. I've got no choice but to barricade myself in the bitch fortress."

"Well, I'm right in there with you, like it or not. I told you because I knew yours and it was only fair that you knew mine. I'll be damned if I'm going to be waving the rainbow flag down the halls of McKinley anytime soon."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean _that_."

"You said I should be myself, right? Act like this in front of everybody? Well, _that's_ part of who I fucking am. There isn't anything I can do about it. As long as I'm stuck in this podunk town I'll continue to act like the last guy on earth anyone would suspect. You get that, Lopez, I know you do."

Santana shook her head, but kept a slight smirk to help lighten the mood. "Yeah, I get it."

He seemed to sense her resigned disappointment.

"Hey," he said softly, attempting to remove her downcast eyes from her plate. "Do you think the bitch and the douchebag fortresses are one in the same?"

"I think we might have to combine them," she shrugged. "It wouldn't make sense for us to fight the battle of self-denial alone."

He nodded and she smiled sincerely at him, hoping that he'd appreciate being one of the only people she knew to actually see it.

Santana then heard the chime of the door ring as another customer came in, but she didn't think much of it. It had been ringing intermittently all night and the restaurant was fairly busy in any case.

When she looked up from her spring roll, however, she saw that Dave felt quite differently. He was currently staring wide-eyed and uncomfortable at the host's desk, and so she just _had_ to turn around and see what had procured such a reaction.

_Well, I'll be damned_, she thought as she soaked up the sight of an unsurprisingly perfectly groomed Kurt Hummel in the company of his deliciously gorgeous Eurasian boyfriend. As she remembered having neglected to tell Dave about Kurt's new beau, she also recalled that she had forgotten the name of said boyfriend.

When the two boys caught sight of them, Santana spun around quickly, hoping to make it look like her attention had been on her food all along. Dave's eyes darted down in the same direction, but continued to shift uneasily until his met hers.

'_I forgot his name…_' she mouthed to Dave. She knew it was the least of their worries at the current moment, but she still managed to earn a repressed, albeit nervous-as-fuck chuckle from him as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Hey!" said gorgeous boyfriend pleasantly as he approached their table, dragging a very reluctant and spiteful looking Kurt behind him. "Fancy seeing you guys here! Small town, right?"

Santana returned his pleasantries with a wan smile while Dave brooded and avoided eye contact with either boy.

"Yeah, fancy that." She replied, a bit sarcastically. Gorgeous boyfriend didn't seem to notice.

"Kurt and I had just wrapped up Warbler's practice and since school's out for the rest of the week, we figured we come celebrate at our favorite Thai place."

"The _only _Thai place," Kurt corrected through his teeth, eyes darting around desperately for an escape.

Gorgeous boyfriend shrugged his shoulders. "So…what are you two doing here? We aren't…uh, interrupting anything are we?"

Santana could almost feel the heat of Dave's rising anger radiating off of him. The implication in gorgeous boyfriend's voice hadn't been in the least bit subtle. No doubt that now both boys were wondering if the two of them were dating, if Dave was trying for a final go with heterosexuality, and if she was aware of it.

But before she could think of a witty retort, Dave had placed a wad of cash on the table and was rising from his chair.

"Nope," he said almost inaudibly. "I was just leaving."

He then was careful to maneuver around the couple so as to not brush up against either of them the wrong way. Santana didn't miss Kurt's pointed glare after Dave as he exited the restaurant.

"Oh…" Gorgeous boyfriend managed, seeming to her to not know when to shut his handsome gob. "Did I- I mean…maybe I said something-"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Santana interrupted, rising and gathering her own belongings. "You guys enjoy your meal. Don't singe your tastebuds off with the Sriracha."

Kurt must have detected the intentional bitterness in her tone, as she heard him say, "Forget it, Blaine." and lead him to their table before gorgeous boyfriend could spew anymore stupidity.

'_Blaine…that's his fucking name.' _

_

* * *

_

She was pleased to see that his 1994 Ford F150 was where he'd left it last. She had hoped to get a word in edgewise before he zoomed off back home to beat off and cry alone or whatever it was he did to deal with the pain.

She came around to the passenger side door and invited herself to climb in, only to be met by Dave leaning up against the steering wheel. Naturally her unannounced arrival disturbed the tranquility of his brood.

"Oh, Jesus, what the fuck, Lopez…" he gasped, apparently more startled than she thought he'd be. "You could have at least knocked…"

It wasn't hard to see his bloodshot eyes or whitened knuckles as they clenched the wheel. She'd cut the crap for now.

"What did you expect, Karofsky? That he was going to be happy to see you?"

"No!" he barked. "…but fuck all if I expected him to walk in there at the exact same time with that…fucking guy…"

His voice was breaking. She supposed any other proper gal pal might hug him or something, but she wasn't that kind. She suspected he wasn't either.

"Please…gay guys love ethnic food. And given we live in Bumfuck, Ohio with only one remotely ethnic restaurant you should have treated their appearance as inevitable."

This didn't appear to cheer him up in the slightest. He simply collapsed back on his steering wheel.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she said, purposefully softening her voice. "I of all people should have known."

He still didn't stir from his slump.

"Don't you think I know what it's like?" She leaned in closer to his hunched over form. "_Every day _I have to watch the person I love with some fuck in a wheelchair. And it's not as if I haven't made it blatantly clear how I feel. She _knows_, and that's what hurts the most. She _knows _and she still doesn't want me."

Dave made a sound akin to whimper. "At least she would care if you were to veer off a bridge or die in a fiery car wreck. Sometimes I think Hummel dreams about it happening to me."

Santana scoffed sadly. "Don't be ridiculous, Karofsky. He doesn't think about you in his spare time, not even to fantasize your death. Besides, as creepily maniacal as he can be I don't think he's ever harbored a deathwish for you. He just wants you the fuck out of his life, that's all."

He suddenly sat up, glaring daggers at her. "Is _this _supposed to be making me feel better?"

"No." she said pointedly. "I'm doing you one better. I'm telling you how it is."

He ground his jaw, unable to argue with his appreciation for her lack of bullshit.

"But you've got an advantage that I don't. You wanna know what it is?" When he didn't respond with an even remotely interested answer, she continued on anyway. "Kurt doesn't even know you. He knows douchebag jock Dave, but not the Dave that just had dinner with me. You know something? I bet with the right amount of time and effort, he'd want to fuck the shit out of _that_ Dave."

He couldn't help but laugh. It was obvious he wanted to keep being frustratingly depressed, but the ridiculousness of her last sentence –and, arguably, the hope that carried with it- made it nigh impossible.

"You've got to be kidding me, Lopez…"

"Fuck no, I'm not," she continued, unabashed. "You start acting more like real Dave and Kurt will forget all about Gorgeous McStupidhair."

"Gorgeous McStupidhair? _Really_? That's the best you've got?"

Santana shrugged, pulled some lipstick out of her purse and applied it casually in the rearview mirror.

"Hey, fuck you, I'm not firing on all four snark cylinders tonight."

He sighed and leaned back a little, seeming to have healed a bit from their odd conversation.

"Yeah, that much is obvious."

"So we should do this more often." She capped her lipstick tube and smoothed her lips. "We can just chill out and be gay douchebags together. It doesn't have to be anything obvious, if you don't want it to. We could have a secret platonic gay friendship affair. What do you think?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," he grinned. "Besides, I still need to take you clothes shopping."

"Bet your ass you do."

She then opened the side door and climbed out into the warm evening air.

"See you later, Karofsky."

"Yeah. Later, Lopez."


	3. Pinky Pact

**A/N- **Chapter 3 , y'all. Thanks for all of the awesome reviews! Keep it up, I love hearing from you! Also, FYI, no Kurt this chapter. He'll be back and with a vengeance next go-round. =)

**Disclaimer- **If I owned Glee, I'd make a spin-off entirely about Santana and Dave sharing an apartment together in college and doing awesome best friend stuff together (like singing random duets and painting each other's nails). Obviously, I don't own Glee.

* * *

"I heard you were out last night."

She'd been trying to block him out since he approached her locker that morning, knowing all too-well what he'd want to say and how she wouldn't give two shits about it.

"That right?"

"Yeah. Grapevine says you were at that Chinese place with _Dave Karofsky. _What the heck were you doing at a Chinese place with Karofsky?"

She clenched her eyes shut in frustration. He really was as dumb as box of wet hair.

"It was _Thai _food, Sam. As in food from _Thailand_. That's a completely different country."

She slammed her locker shut with finality and began the trek to 1st period, hoping the crowd of students might sweep him away.

"Hey! Don't avoid the issue, Santana." He jogged up beside her. "You were out with another dude. Naturally, as your boyfriend, I've got some issues with that-"

"Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't give a rat's ass."

He paused a moment before saying anything else, clearly taken aback.

"Wh-what do you mean you don't-"

"Oh god, Sam, what the hell did you think?" She spun around on her heel, facing him fully so that she could look him dead in the eye and insure no confusion. "You knew as well as I did that we weren't _really _dating. You agreed to go out with me to make Quinn jealous and to boost yourself to the top of the popularity ladder. Don't you think maybe I had my own selfish reasons for fake dating you?"

He didn't say anything, but from the way his baby blue eyes fell she could tell her words had cut him deep. Not wanting to fixate on the fact that she was quite possibly breaking his heart, she instead focused on nipping this fake relationship in the bud as fast as possible. Sam's delusion was responsible for his hurt feelings, not her.

"Look, do yourself a favor and stop pretending like this was anything more than it was. You used me and I used you and now I don't need you anymore."

And she left him stunned and unmoving in the middle of the hallway. She spent the rest of the morning trying to convince herself that the guilt that weighed on her really wasn't there.

* * *

"Hey man, word is you were out with Santana Lopez last night."

Fuck, this was a small-ass town. That or Gorgeous McStupidhair's mouth was a lot bigger than it looked.

"Oh, yeah," Dave answered a little absently as he pulled his shirt on. "Totally was."

"'Bout time you hit that," Azimio laughed as he sat on the locker room bench tying his converses. "You know everyone in here's had a go though, don't you?"

The surrounding boys shared a mutual, knowing chuckle. Dave wondered if they were all being entirely truthful. He supposed that was something he could confirm with his new platonic, lesbian girlfriend later on.

"Yeah, well. Looks like I've got exclusive rights now."

He might as well have played along. If they couldn't be secret, he figured they could at least use each other as beards. He was sure Santana would agree with him.

The rest of the guys whooped and hollered and gifted him with some approving high-fives. He couldn't lie and say he didn't take some pride in the display of acceptance.

He didn't realize just _how much _he had appreciated it until he neglected to notice Sam entering the locker room with a full slushy cup in his hand, walk up directly beside him, and chuck the whole thing in his face.

"Fucker," he spat from those full, rubbery lips. "_That's _for taking my girlfriend."

There was a moment of dead silence as the rest of the guys watched Dave to see how he'd react. Frankly, he wanted to grab Sam by the collar, pull him off to a quiet corner of the locker room and explain the whole ordeal. But that would mean telling someone on the team that he was a fag.

When Azimio noticed that Dave wasn't going to address Sam's display of machismo anytime soon, he quickly jumped to the rescue.

"Hey man, don't be mad at Dave just cause he's more of a man than you. You think fucking with him is gonna give you a bigger dick or somethin'?"

Sam turned and launched himself at Azimio, anger making his sinewy arms quiver. He looked as though he might fall to bits just from that force alone.

Dave might have stood where he was and watched Azimio beat the shit out of Sam, were this a month or two ago. But there was something compelling him to act, to not let some poor naïve kid get beaten to pulp for a misunderstanding that he caused. Hadn't he been the common denominator of enough issues already? Couldn't he have just thrown himself and the world a bone and _not _been a total self-centered douche for once in his life?

Yeah. He could.

Dave grabbed Sam around the biceps and ripped him off of Azimio before any real damage could be done to either one of them. The blonde boy jerked and flailed in Dave's iron grip, but the effort was futile.

"Fucking let go of me, asshole!"

Dave did, but was sure to gently push Sam a ways off from Azimio, who was currently only being held back by Strando's pudgy hand.

Fuck, where was Beist? Or Hudson? Shouldn't either of them being dealing with this?

"Your business is with me, Evans," Dave muttered. "Don't get them involved."

He was fully prepared for the kid to throw himself at him next. He could only hope, in that case, that one of the guys would have the presence of mind to hold one or both of them back, as he really couldn't afford to get into any more fights. He was pretty much walking on eggshells at home as it was and that was without his Dad knowing about the Saturday morning detention he'd have to serve that weekend.

But Sam simply adjusted his hoodie, glared at Dave, and went back to his locker. He could tell this was far from over, but he figured the remainder of Sam's wrath would involve only glares and maybe some shoulder bumps in the hallway.

He honestly felt bad for Sam. No matter how often the two of them were at odds, he knew he was a well-meaning kid. He was sure Santana's arrangement with him was nothing less than surface-level and he seriously doubted she did anything to make him think she was in love or something. Still, somewhere along the way he must have gotten wrapped up in the illusion, began thinking that maybe Santana really _was _a mutually-caring companion and not some chick to hang off his arm and give him hand-jobs every now and then.

The second time he felt seriously compelled to spill his guts was then and there. He didn't want yet another person to think he was a heartless douche, at least no more than he willingly let on. He didn't want Sam to think that he'd stolen something real from him. _That_ hadn't ever been his intention.

But instead he grabbed his sports bag and left before he could change his mind.

* * *

"This movie sucks."

Santana dusted the remaining sour sugar off on to her jeans before reaching into the open Sour Patch Kids bag between them and fetching another handful.

"Are you kidding? This is fucking hilarious." Dave said in between dislodging gummy particles from his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

"Well, _yeah_, it's funny, but it's still idiotic and a total waste of time."

"Uhm, yeah. I think that's the point."

"Whatever," she shrugged, continuing to unwaveringly watch _The Hangover _on the MacBook between them despite her complaints.

Whether the movie sucked or not, it still made for one of the best Saturday morning detentions ever. Apparently, Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell's version of said detention was eerily akin to The Breakfast Club, just without all of the supervision and bonding. She was currently in the librarian's office on the other side of the library, writing love sonnets or some shit to Mr. Schue, Dave had guessed. The kids were pretty much given free reign until their release at 11:30 am, so while _they_ had unsurprisingly asked Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell for a four hour long restroom break to unabashedly toke, Dave and Santana chose to recline up against some bookshelves and get their stupid-movie on. Luckily, the stoners' lack of common sense provided them both with a whole selection of movie-watching snacks, as they had left their munchies backpack behind them.

"So according to the McKinley majority, you and I are an item now," she mentioned when the movie reached a slow point.

This, of course, didn't surprise Dave in the least.

"Yeah. I might have told some of the guys you were my girlfriend instead of my fag-hag. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly correct Sam's suspicions about our outing when I broke up with him."

"Dude," Dave began, licking the sour dust off his fingers. "He was fucking pissed yesterday in the locker room. He freakin' slushied me and then nearly got his ass handed to him by Azimio."

Santana scoffed. "Seriously? I don't get what the hell his problem is. The whole reason we started dating was to make his slut girlfriend jealous. It was all a show, why can't he just cool his dick?"

Dave couldn't help but feel a little indignant. Here he had been, wanting to reveal himself the day before just so Sam's feelings wouldn't be hurt and it seemed as if she could give less than two shits either way.

He simply looked over at her a little disapprovingly. She rolled her eyes at what he agreed was probably his most blatant display of hypocrisy.

"Don't look at me like that," she sighed. "I may act like a heartless bitch but I have a fucking conscience."

"So…you feel bad?"

Not even the commentary and hi-jinks of Zach Galifianakis could distract them now. The audio coming from their shared ear-bud set seemed to fade into white noise as Santana looked guiltily forward at the facing book spines and Dave waited impatiently to hear what her answer would be.

"Well, _I_ feel bad," he said after a time of her remaining silent. "I think…I dunno, I think he really liked being with you. I felt like a total asshole for just taking someone's chick like that. I was this close to telling him the truth, you don't even know-"

"Oh give me a _fucking break_, Karofsky," she snapped. "When did you suddenly turn into McKinley's golden-boy? Let's not forget how you threatened to kill a gay kid and ran him out of school- a kid you _claim _to have feelings for. How fucking sick is that? What I did to Sam is nothing. I certainly hope you _feel bad_ for what you did to Kurt, not that it's going to be enough to redeem or earn you a one-way ticket into his pants. _That's _what you should be worried about, not fucking Sam."

Dave ground his jaw and stared at her as long as he could before the water welling up in his tear glands became apparent.

"Fuck you," he spat, ripping out the earbud, standing and walking off briskly.

A moment later Santana heard the door to the library swing shut and could only imagine he had left early, given the circumstances.

She slammed the top of the MacBook shut out of a need to violently handle something and to turn the stupid movie off, before hugging her knees to her chest and leaning her forehead against them to disguise her incoming tears.

_Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is? _

She couldn't lie and say there wasn't a time when she wouldn't have gotten pleasure out of seeing Sam unhappy and miserable and alone. She _loved _watching Finn and Rachel collapse in on themselves and even more so that she had been the cause of it. But she'd still go home every afternoon, lock her door, and cry for a good half an hour. Knowing that there were formerly very happy, in-love, annoying people now doing the same made the weight sickeningly easier to bear, at least for a time.

But that had changed after she told Brittany everything and was promptly turned away. There was no longer any pleasure for her in bringing other people down to her level of joylessness because she knew that no amount of doing it would make Brittany love her. At the end of the day, she had to live with the knowledge that the only person she pined for, the only one she wanted to be with, didn't want her back.

Yeah, she felt bad for Sam, no matter how much she hated it. She hated the guilt, the futility of her effort, the growing realization that she had been ruining lives this whole time for _no good reason. _

And how fucking dare Dave Karofsky judge her for that. Hadn't he been doing the same? Isn't that what they were bonding over in the first place? She thought he of all people would understand, or at least have the decency to not be the biggest hypocrite in the world. He had obviously bullied Kurt for the same reasons she destroyed relationships; he hated seeing someone more confident in his skin than him, someone he desired and wanted to be with and blamed for 'turning him gay', for making him feel sexual and romantic need towards a boy. The same was true for Finn, the Glee Club- all people he envied that needed to be brought down to his level.

They weren't different, she and him. _That's_ why they need each other. _That's _why she had been pursuing this cockamamie friendship with no real knowledge of where it would go and what sort of trouble it would get them into.

She needed him to understand. But then again, she supposed, perhaps he needed the same from her.

Knowing that she both wanted and needed him to stick around, she decided she'd swallow her rather sizeable pride and approach him again herself. Perhaps if she explained and urged him to do the same they could work something out.

There really was no other option, anyway.

* * *

"Look…I'm sorry, okay?"

He had heard her approach long ago, but ignored it completely. He had somewhat hoped that hanging out in the neighborhood park on a swing set would successfully hide him away, but he supposed his large frame and iconic red letter jacket would give him away anywhere. Oh, that and his truck.

But he didn't answer her. No matter how hypocritical he may have been, she had definitely crossed a line.

"Are you just going to sit there with your back to me like some five year old?"

He still didn't answer.

_Maybe, _he thought.

"Fine," she said eventually. He could hear her feet shift the playground rocks as she came over to the swing beside him, sitting down purposefully to face him. "I've done plenty of babysitting. Two can play at this game."

Another moment of silence passed. He was going to keep his mouth shut if it killed him and, hopefully, she'd leave.

"Jesus…fuck….I'm just not good at this sort of thing, okay?" she confessed. "Apologizing is the _worst_…I never do it if I don't have to, so consider yourself lucky."

He knew that was kind of a bitchy thing to say. It didn't really surprise him, however. She pushed forward.

"It wasn't…fair of me to bring up that stuff with you, I know that. I was just angry because I felt like you were judging me for something that I thought _you_ would understand. I swallowed my horse-pill sized pride and came over here to apologize because I need…_and_ want you in my life. The way I figure it, you and I aren't getting out of this unscathed unless we stick together."

Fuck it.

"How do you think _I_ felt to be judged by you?" he said finally. "What you said back there was _fucked_, Lopez, and you know it. Maybe I shouldn't have villainized you with all the Sam stuff, but it definitely didn't warrant you bringing up all that crap again."

"I _know_ that, Karofsky, that's why I'm here right now."

Another silence passed as the wind kicked up and blew some of the swings around them back and forth, making the rusted iron squeak.

"What if we make some pact or something?" she offered.

"To what? Not judge each other?"

"Yeah, I guess. I won't bring up your shitty past if you don't bring up mine. I won't judge you if you won't judge me. We just sort of accept that we've both been fuck-ups."

He contemplated this for a moment, kicking idly at the gravel beneath his feet.

"Fine. But let's get something straight here. I'm tired of being a jerk and I'm tired of hanging around with people who expect me act like it. I'm not saying I've suddenly sprouted the balls to miraculously change or something, but I don't need one more person like that in my life. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded. "Don't you think I'm tired of this fucking charade too?"

"If all we're going to be is facetious douchebags, then this ends here and now. I'd really like to start being a better person, whatever that's gonna mean, and I kinda hoped you'd join me. I'm tired of being alone in this."

"Yeah. Me too."

He exhaled deeply before finally finding the gumption to look her in the eye. They shared an understanding half-smile before Santana extended her pinky to him.

"What's this?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Haven't you seen a pinky-swear before? We're sealing the pact, dummy."

He mimicked her gesture with uncertainty. Pinky-swears sounded like something giggly girls did, ergo not familiar to him at all. She linked hers with his and tightened the bond.

"_Now_ do you get it?" she smirked. He simply nodded, recognizing it almost immediately as something Brittany and Santana did frequently in the days before 'the confession'. He couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of initiation rite of hers to becoming close friends and the knowledge of this both touched and frightened him.

He couldn't say he'd ever had a _real _friend, someone who he felt safe actually being himself around. Furthermore, he would have never guessed this person would end up being Santana Lopez.

"Just for the record, I don't really think any less of you because of what happened."

She unlinked their pinkies and his hand drifted back to the grip of the swing set chain.

"I don't think any less of you, either."

After smiling at him briefly, she sighed loudly and stood from her swing. "Well, I better get back home before my dad flips shit. Hey, you wouldn't wanna finally take me shopping tomorrow, would you?"

"Totally would. Anything to get me out of Youth Group."

"Awesome. Just give me a call."

She then ruffled his short hair affectionately with her long-nailed fingers before setting back across the playground to her car.

Dave remained behind, still on the swing, wondering how he might be able to coerce her one of these days into giving him a scalp massage.


End file.
